The Doctor
by Lime-lensed Lord
Summary: What happens when a gay, mexican-australian, almost-30 year old bloke gets unceremoniously dumped into a mysterious, magical land that he read about as a teenager? Well a good start is that he's going to think he's gone bat-sh** crazy. But everything's always a little more complicated than we'd like...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-Skydiving Is Not as Fun as it Sounds

Two men boarded a plane side by side, the shorter with a wide beam across his face in a joking manner. "We did it Tran! We survived two months with the kiwi's!" His partner reciprocated the expression.  
"It's a bloody miracle."

The loudspeaker squealed for a final time. " _This is the final call for boarding Hall 6 for Melbourne, that is Hall 6 for Melbourne."_

Several loungers were startled into a scurry for carry-ons, racing up behind the men. Flynn rubbed his chin slowly as they found their seats. "I need to shave."  
"You're fine: five o'clock shadows are apparently in fashion right now." They surveyed the crowd of young businessmen around them, the statement proving to be true.  
Flynn shrugged and sent a sly expression to the other man. "Well at least I can grow one."  
"Shut up."

The overhead symbols lit up, and a pretty air hostess began her well-rehearsed safety demonstration. "Look, I'm knackered. See you in three hours."  
"We don't have three hours, we have to change flight for Adelaide in Melbourne."  
"Dammit. Wake me up when we're there then." A small smile flashed across Flynn's face as his husband closed his eyes and promptly went to sleep.

* * *

The brunette pulled out his earpods with a start. The plane lurched to the left, Trans head flopping into the aisle. _Turbulence?_ That seemed a likely answer until they jolted once more and the smell of acrid burning filled the space. An urgent voice cried into the intercom, trying as best as they could to remain calm. "This is the captain speaking, brace yourselves immediately!"

Tran still hung sleeping in the corridor as panicked cries filled the space. "Tran. Tran, wake up! Wake the hell up! Bloody hell!" Flynn shook him until the man aroused from his drowsy state.  
"Wa?"  
"Something's wrong, somethings really wrong." The squinted eyes told Flynn all he needed to know that the other was not awake yet. "Just brace! We're going to fucking crash or something!"  
Flynn braced himself for impact, eyes closed. He felt as if there was suddenly no left or right, up or down or coordinates of any kind. He felt absolutely weightless.

He frowned for a moment, his eyes opening for a fraction of a second. Bile rose in his throat. Where was Tran? A glance told him he was on the roof. _The roof?_  
He wasn't aware of what was happening up until the nothing hit.

* * *

Nothing, Flynn found, is a very brief experience. In his emergence from the state(or lack of state as it be) he found himself experiencing the most marvelous free-fall, the wind pushing past him, tearing at any loose hair and clothing that could be found.

That was when he noticed his eyes were watering. And his jacket had just flown off. And as it so happened, the experience as a whole really, was most excruciatingly painful. Yet he couldn't even scream due to the force being exerted upon him.

 _I'm going to die._ Flynn was surprisingly calm at this realisation. _I did this just a minute ago. I can live through it a second time._ He took a moment to pause and reflect on the irony of these words. _I hope mum and dad are well. And Elena. I hope Tran is… not dead._

Beautiful lights of a like he had never before witnessed swirled in complicated patterns about him. _Pretty._ The natural wonders vanished, leaving a swift-approaching, thoroughly soaked orange landscape. Or at least that was what the landscape appeared as, for in moments a huge glittering purple mass obscured his view, and there was a very acute pain in his ribs. Flynn, understandably by now considering the impossible turn of events(combined with an absolute inability to obtain oxygen), blacked completely out.

A young man and his elder rode across the great plains. Near them in all her magnificence, a shining scaled beast of the most brilliant blue flew.

 _ **Eragon?  
Yes Saphira?  
Do you see what's in the sky?  
What?  
Look at the sky. Near the cloud that looks like a chicken It's as if a tiny man is falling from it.  
**_Eragon shaded his eyes. _**What are you talking abou…wait, that black dot?  
I think you are looking at the right thing. I'll investigate.  
Be careful. Who knows, it might have something to do with the Ra'zac..  
It is you who should be careful.**_

With a mighty flap the dragon ascended into the skies, the two beings ever drawing closer. The tiny man which she had seen was very peculiar. She had never seen such strange garments before. And his beard was more closely-shaven then Saphira thought possible.

Tentatively she reached her mind to him. All she sensed was an absolute confusion. His connection cut out just as she caught him in the cup of her shoulders, some dumb luck allowing him to miss all the spines. _**Eragon, I think you best tell Brom we have a guest.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-A Protagonist Makes a Habit of Fainting

Flynn's eyes flickered open, shutting just as fast in the harsh contrasting light. He could hear voices, both with strange accents which he had never heard before. _Irish?_  
"Brom, he's waking up!"  
"Yes, I can see."

Flynn opened his eyes again, slowly this time. His eyes adjusted to the contrasts of the plain and his nose was filled with the scent of moist earth. Everything throbbed. A portion of his ribs had a sharp pain running through them, absolutely burning. _Yep. Those are broken. Those are very much broken._ He groaned pathetically, making a half-hearted attempt to move before losing all resilience.

There were people around. They were looking at him. _Fuck._ His mouth was dry, his tongue felt thick and everything was heavy. However, speaking seemed the only option considering the situation. "Wa de…zish ish akward. Ne-" _Bloody work for me mouth!_ He took a moment to get his sore, chapped lips moving again. "Um… hi. Look I'm sorry, but what on earth is this place, and how did I get here?" Although he could not sit up without igniting a pain in his chest, Flynn's vision flicked toward the man speaking. He was almost elderly- late middle age perhaps- with a beard and dressed in some sort of brown medieval garb. _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

"You are on The Great Plains." There was a note of caution in the man's voice. "We do not know how you got here: you fell out of the sky, as best as we can say."

Once more Flynn caught site of the brilliant blue. This time however, it had shape. The glittering was caused by light shining off thousands of hard scales, and the creature that sat just a few meters away…

Flynn's eyes rolled back as he fainted for the second time in a period of three minutes.

* * *

Waking up didn't hurt as much this time. He managed to muster the power to sit up, although he immediately regretted the action as pain lanced around his chest. Flynn's normally logical mind had gone into overdrive as he stared at the creature.  
"That's… that's a dragon. A dragon…how on earth…"

He took a moment to collect himself, before turning to face the man. "You're Brom aren't you?" The man stared at him with some surprise and part suspicion.  
"How do you know this?"  
"You mentioned it earlier. I think. Yes, yes you did. I'm Flynn…um, Flynn Mansfield." A sneaking suspicion began to worm its way into his mind. He turned to look once more at the dragon. "You must be Sapphire no, that's not quite right-" his eyebrows scrunched as he tried to remember something from long ago, when he was but a teenager… "Saphira! Aren't you?" Flynn now turned to the boy, no older than sixteen, who been ignoring. "And you, you must be Arago-Eragon. I'm not going crazy am I? Please tell me I haven't… actually please do, that would make more sense than- this." A wild gesture at the surroundings was followed by a wince. His head was slowly clicking into gear, a filter starting to come over his speech.

"How do you know our names?"

Yet he was still too dazed for the filter to function efficiently. "Oh, just something I read…I'm not quite from here. Ala-dooby-wassit, I mean. It's umm.. it's complicated." He bit his lip to prevent laughter, the insanity of it all flying straight over his head.

 _I am in a fictional world. I remember these characters from when I was like… seventeen. I know their futures._ He reconsidered this statement. _I have a rough, half-empty knowledge for what their futures hold. And I am in the middle of a big plain. Talking to the main characters. Who probably think I am absolutely insane and view me as potentially hostile._ His first thoughts acted as if all that had happened was real. True proof of his low-functioning state. Soon though, logic arrived and refused to accept the projection.  
 _It's a dream. I'm in pain because I'm in pain in real life…or maybe this is the afterlife._ The latter was a depressing thought.

He entertained the thought that he had simply fallen asleep on the plane, just as Tran had, but dismissed this. The feeling of weightlessness, the bile rising in his throat, that could not be mistaken. He could still taste the hydrochloric acid that had marred his throat. The windburn on his arms, neck and face were incredibly painful, as was the case with his ribs. Yet they were no painful to a degree creating unconsciousness resulting in the only logical conclusion that was coming to him... he had to be awake. Dream, afterlife or the many speculations for what it may be, the slight hostility displayed by the ones around him truly needed to be amended. Fast. He could understand why they would look at him with fear, but that didn't mean Flynn wanted it to remain that way.

Flynn's thoughts were barely more aligned than before, but at least he could speak coherently. "Look, I'm sorry for falling out of the sky into your camp. But please let me stay with you, at least for a while. I have literally nothing, I don't mean any harm… and just to let you know, Saphira you are quite possibly the most magnificent being I have ever witnessed- I am not going to go around telling Galbatrix…Galdafix…whatever his name is about you. I'll make an oath or whatever! Please… just please… don't leave me here."

He wasn't sure where the pleading speech had come from. Once the words had left him, he knew they sounded ridiculously pathetic. His voice had this...hideous, high whiny tone to it. It had felt like somebody else had been doing the speaking for him, an out of body experience. Reflecting back, he could even make a monologue on how out of place, pointless and pathetic it was.  
 _Bugger._

Despite this, it seemed as if it had done the job. Or some sought of job.

An alien sensation descended. _**I like him.**_ There was nothing in his ears, yet he heard the voice in his head. It was as if a thought had been transferred directly into his brain. A great shiver ran through him as he stared at the dragon.

"Saphira, that's all very well but he fell from the sky. We haven't the foggiest what he could do or what that might mean. It's not that I'm completely against it, simply that we have to be cautious. Very cautious."  
"I do not think he brings trouble Brom… just look at him. Besides, I trust Saphira's judgement." Eragon had finally spoken. _Blimey, he's even younger than I thought… his voice has hardly broken._

 _ **As you should.**_

Flynn was not particularly angry as such- if he had fallen out of the sky, which apparently he had, suspicion was natural. However the day had been long. He'd waited for ages in airport security. Neither he nor Tran had gotten much sleep the previous night due to the New Zealand cold. His plane had crashed, and he should be dead. All in all, he was blatantly exasperated. "Could everybody please stop talking as if I'm a stuffed turkey?" They froze. "Thank-you. Even if you leave me here, I'm following you. I have no idea where to go in this god-blasted place. Besides-" the fact was once again brought to light by a sharp sting, and the feeling of heat on his face"-I've definitely got several broken ribs and bad windburn here. It's not like I can pose a threat."

There was a moment to reflect on this statement. Brom sighed and grunted. "We can take you as far as the next town. It's probably not good for you or us to hang around."  
"Thank-you. That's all I need."

With great pain, Flynn rose up only to catch sight of a piece of grey material on a clump of coarse grass several meters away. "Is that my jacket?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-Please Leave the Dead Baby Jokes at the Entrance

 _November 24th, 2016_  
 _The Sunset Program, Reporter: Joanna Morrison_

 _"And now for some tragic news. New Zealand Ways flight TE-812 has crashed into the Tasman Sea just seven hours ago, just eight kilometres off the shore of Victoria. Two-hundred and sixteen people were upon the plane headed for Melbourne, when it crashed at 10:47 this morning. Of them, ninety-two were Australian. There are only thirty-two survivors, although six passengers are yet to be accounted for. Australian tennis player Tran Cheng and husband Flynn Mansfield are among these._  
 _The crash is not being treated as suspicious, and authorities are currently searching for the black box…"_

 _Upon a sagging couch sat a couple, both approaching seventy. They clasped hands tightly, faces tight and white with shock. They had expected a call, but it not having come was not unusual. Nor was it unusual for their son not to come home immediately, exhausted from travel. The worst was something which they had not held any foresight._  
 _Suddenly the barrier broke, and the women began to sob fat liquid globules. The phone rang on the coffee table, the old man fumbled at the handset as he caught the name Elena displayed across the screen._

* * *

Flynn arose from an uneasy sleep to see the sun sending orange rays across the horizon, melting the plains winter frost. The faint smell of salt water filled his nose, the obscured sound of a splash. He was still caught in this dream- nightmare. That was what he convinced himself it was. Throughout the night he had been plagued again and again by the image of Tran's terrified face as he reached out to him.  
He took a deep breath, before realising it had been a mistake, and no, deep breathing, whilst calming, is really not a good activity if your entire chest is on fire. _Please be alive. Wherever you are, whichever universe just please…please be alright._

His company of course, were already awake. Eragon and Saphira were simply standing and staring at each other; the best conclusion was that they were embroiled in some sort of mental argument. Probably. I mean, who really knows what's going on?

The eldest stood by the horses. "Greetings."  
"And good morning to you as well." Flynn said with a hint of dryness at the grunted speech. "I'm sorry but you don't happen to have any water?" A bladder-a literal bladder-with some water was thrust in his direction by a bony hand. It took great effort not to screw up his face.  
"Drink up, there's not much more left. We should be approaching town this evening."  
"Thanks."

The man didn't acknowledge him as he adjusted the saddling of two horses. Sensing that Brom was not interested in small talk at the current moment, Flynn approached Eragon instead. Dragon and rider seemed not to be speaking anymore, although as it seemed all in their heads, who knew what went on?  
"Hi."  
Eragon nodded in acknowledgement. "Flynn."

There was something that had been egging at the man's mind since he had met the boy. Somehow he had always gotten the impression that Eragon had been older, but now that he was a 'real' person his youthful face made Flynn shiver. He couldn't remember exactly what the boy would be going through, but if anything he recalled that it hadn't been pleasant. No child should be on a search for killers across the wilderness. At that, no-one should. "Look, I realise this may be a strange question, but er...how old are you?"  
Eragon blinked surprised. "Fifteen, although I'll be sixteen come summer." Despite himself, Flynn let out a low whistle. _Fifteen._ It gave him a new appreciation of what the boy was going through. When he was fifteen he had been worrying that he would get a C on his chemistry test. This kid would have the world on his shoulders. He felt a strange surge of pity for the hallucinations his injured mind had created.

Dreams, hallucinations. Logically, they couldn't be anything else.

"Why the whistle?"  
"What, sorry?"  
"Why the whistle?"  
"Oh yeah…well you see, where I come from that's pretty young."  
"Young for what?"  
"For next to anything. Where I'm from, people aren't classed as adults until they're eighteen."  
There was a pregnant silence. "That's strange. Most people are married by then, some have children. Why wouldn't they be thought as that?"  
Flynn blinked in surprise. _This is the medieval ages. People do everything younger._ "Well see, where I'm from most people aren't. Normally unmarried, almost certainly without children. That's for when people are like…thirty."  
"Thirty! Half a life's gone by then. That's… ridiculous!" Flynn couldn't help but chuckle.  
"All my folks would say the same of here."

Suddenly there was a great openness, his mind feeling as if a ton of bricks was pressing down from every side. He physically winced. " _ **You keep mentioning where you are from, little man. Where do you come from?"**_

"Hey, leave the height be!" It was a facet he was sensitive about. At a diminutive 5'5ft, even putting his shoulder-length hair into a topknot meant he was well below the majority. He hesitated before answering the question, but something inside him stirred and calmed him. _It's just a dream. A hallucination. It doesn't really matter what you tell them._

"I come from a country called Australia. It's a very, very long way from here… I think."

The conversation was cut to a halt by Brom's announcement that we were ready to leave.

* * *

"I hope we're going in the right direction, because we'll be in trouble if we don't reach Yazuac today."  
"I've travelled this way before. It will be in sight before dusk." Brom then spared a look worried look. "Providing we can travel enough with Mansfield that is."  
"I will keep up, provided somebody gives me some pointers at how to ride a horse." Flynn decided confidence was the way to go. He couldn't just stay behind. That would almost be a death sentence.

Eragon laughed at his comment, and let it lie. "Perhaps you see something I don't. How can you know Yazuac's close when everything looks exactly the same for leagues around?"  
"Because I am not guided by the land, but by the stars and sun. They will not lead us astray. Now, get astride Saphira! It is foolish to conjure up woe where none exists. Yazuac will be there."

After giving Flynn tips how to ride a horse and Eragon to ride a dragon, they were off. Thankfully their pace wasn't too rough. Flynn's injuries nor his skills, would be able to handle it.

Just a few minutes into the ride Brom spoke. "So what was the answer?"  
"The answer to what?"  
"How old you are."  
A broad grin stretched across the man's face. "You were eavesdropping!" The claim was not denied. Grin still in place, he replied. "I'm twenty-eight."

* * *

The ride was long, boring and painful. A good word for it would be downright gruelling. It was Saphira, Eragon clinging like a limpet upon her back, who saw the village first. Human eyes on the ground worked far harder to spot it, until finally a dark lump appeared in the distance.

Don't misunderstand, the pristine natural beauty around Flynn was beautiful enough to make him hold back a gasp at every sight.  
It's just when you're riding around monotonous landscape for seven hours with minimum nutrients, sun beating on the back of your neck on your already severe windburn, a person just gets sick of it you know? Aside from the harsh uniform expanse, conversation was scarce, and few words had been exchanged between story teller and diminutive man. Hence it was of great relief when dragon and rider landed. They pulled their horses to a stop, Flynn taking noticeably longer to take control.

"Saphira and I will be seen if we stay close much longer. Should Saphira hide while we go into Yazuac?"  
Brom stroked his long beard and looked at the town. "Eragon, you'll have to ride with Flynn. See that bend in the river? Saphira can wait there. We'll go through town, get what we need, figure out what to do with Flynn, then meet you." They all agreed- it was a good a plan as any- aside from Saphira who emitted an angry huff but headed for the bend anyway. Eragon took the reign's, for which Flynn was eternally grateful. It was however, significantly less comfortable.

Their pace swiftened with the anticipation of food and drink. Soon they could see and smell the smoke from several chimneys, despite the streets being deserted. All was forebodingly silent. It was unspoken consent that stopped them before the first house.

"There aren't any dogs barking."  
"No."  
"Doesn't necessarily mean anything though."  
"…No."  
Eragon paused his commentary. "Someone should have seen us by now."  
"Yes."  
"Then why hasn't anyone come out?"

Flynn shrugged behind him. "They might be scared." The pair looked at him strangely, some kind of peculiar mix between surprise and something else. "What, it's a valid point!"  
"Yes, you're right." Eragon paused again. "What if it's a trap? The Ra'zac might be waiting for us."  
"We need provisions and water."  
"There's the Ninor."  
"Still need provisions."  
Eragon shrugged. "True."

Flynn looked between the two. "So we go in?"

"Yes, but not as fools. This is the main entrance to the village- if there is to be an attack, it will be staged here. It won't be expected if we come from a different direction."  
"Around the side then?" They unanimously agreed.  
Brom rested a sword upon his knees and Eragon pulled out his bow. _Who are these people?_ Feeling suitably under-armed, Flynn found his grandfather's multitool in his jacket pocket. How he had managed to sneak it past airport security on multiple occasions he would never know. Not that it mattered now. The familiar weight rested in the palm of his hand.

There was no sign of life save a scrawny cat zipping past. The houses were dark and mutilated, window frames cracked, torn at the doors, hearths left unattended. The horses rolled their eyes nervously. Each wanted to state the obvious, but none could muster the courage.

As they rode to the centre of the town Flynn was greeted with a familiar smell and gripped the tool tighter. Eragon was white as snow.  
"My God…"

One of the most appalling sights ever to have been witnessed rose before them. A mound of corpses, blood soaked into the ground, limbs twisted, rose before them, each body pierced with black arrows. None had been spared. Mothers grasped children, husbands their wives, the strong the weak. All had succumbed to deaths icy grip. Upon its pinnacle rested a newborn babe, impaled upon a spear of the same consuming black. Waves of hopelessness were physical blows.

A crow landed atop, eyeing the baby with a greedy eye. "Oh no you don't." Flynn had but a second to slide off Cadoc before Eragon let the arrow fly, sticking the scavenger through. He was promptly sick over Cadoc's side. Flynn patted him on the back as he retched again. "Get it all out." He felt very green himself, but could handle the gore. He had done anatomy- bodies were not an unusual sight. Although this was... hideous. Like nothing he had ever seen, and something he could have very well lived without seeing.

Brom was surprisingly gentle. "Do you want to wait outside Yazuac?"  
"No, no… I'll stay." Eragon wiped his mouth with Flynn's jacket. The poor boy was absolutely shaken. "Just who could have…"  
Brom bowed his head. "Those who love pain and the suffering of others. They wear many faces, go by many aliases, but there is only one name: evil. All we can do is pity and honour the victims."

He joined Flynn on the ground and inspected the dirt. "The Ra'zac passed this way," he concluded, "but this is urgal work. The spear is of their make. A large company has passed through here, although why I wouldn't know…" whilst the elder talked, Flynn took up a victims wrist.  
"These bodies have only been here about an hour! They're fresh!"  
Brom sent them all a look that penetrated the soul. "Ride! There are still Urgal's here!"  
Flynn raced to Cadoc, only to hear pounding and be sent spinning by a solid fist. He faintly heard Brom's cry of "Run, you fools!" as he broke into sprint. He needed no urging. All pain was overtaken by adrenaline as Flynn zigzagged between houses, pounding footsteps just behind him. He didn't risk turning back until the space between houses was blocked by a high wall. The urgal's grey face was thrust forward, huge jet horns curling into the air, small eyes narrowed. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

 _Why are you running?_ It was a good question, or so the strange voice in his head seemed to say. _If it's all a dream, it can't possibly harm you. Why run when there's no reason?_ The voice was calming. Persuasive. Why run after all? The urgal was just three meters away… two meters… one meter… survival instinct kicked in and he dived to the side, straight through flimsy mud-daub. He did however, gain a slash on his cheek for his stupidity.  
It stung. He could feel the viscous liquid dripping down into his beard, warm and sticky. He scrambled to his feet and turned around to find himself in a stable. His pain had made him realise something.

It was all real. It could not be a dream. _Finally_ the voice in his head seemed to say. _It's not like I'm allowed to even give you a hint._

The urgal was clambering through the wall now and Flynn could see his way out through the entrance on the other side. There was but one problem: a large, greying, sorrel horse blocked it off. Flynn took several steps backward as the grotesque humanoid squeezed through, tenseness balling in the pit of his stomach. He had an idea. It was a terrible idea, but it was still an idea.

The urgal was advancing.

Cutting through the stay-rope and with a leap that most sports teachers would be proud of, he was on its back. The sorrel was alert now, aware of danger. Flynn tried to use his knees to steer, holding the rope loop around its neck for dear life. The horse shot out of the stable like a bullet leaving the urgal chasing, but left behind: somewhere in the distance there was the sound of an explosion. Flynn payed no heed to it as the horse galloped, turning left, right, right, left and around. They barrelled through a line of clothing, picking up a shirt, blanket and a single sock in the process. They flew past a shop's sign, which Flynn narrowly avoided being hit by.

Unexpectedly Flynn was back in familiar territory, the pile of bodies casting a shadow upon them. The monster was nowhere in sight, although another lay slain on the ground. Bile rose in his mouth. The white horse- which Flynn had learnt was named Snowfire- pranced by the corner of a house with Brom still hanging limply from the saddle. Somehow, he managed to get the man off. He still felt dazed after what happened, up until he saw the narrow cut along the old man's arm bleeding profusely.

"Crap, we need to get that tied up before you lose any more blood." He hefted him onto the ground with effort- Brom was entirely dead weight. That was when Eragon rounded the corner, horse in tow, shaking violently. "Dude, do you have anything we can fix this guy up with?" Eragon rushed over as best he could- the poor kid looked on the verge of collapse- and pulled some rags off a bright-red sword in a saddlebag, throwing them over.

That was when Saphira landed, looking irate. He had no clue what she was saying, but he did not suppose it was pretty. Flynn could feel her gaze on him as he wrapped Brom's arm with well-practised movements. _**What are you doing!  
**_ Flynn shivered at the sensation. _I don't think I'll get used to that quickly._ "It's alright! I'm just wrapping him up…I'm a doctor, I know what I'm doing." The dragon's wrath backed off a little. That was when Flynn's eye caught the sign he had so narrowly missed further down the road. "Please keep an eye on him, I'm getting something that might help." On the sign hung a picture of a plant in a jar. He sincerely hoped that it was what he thought. "Oh, and watch out- I think there's another... whatever they are around here somewhere."

He jogged off to an outraged 'what!' before slowing to a walk due to the pain in his ribs. The adrenaline was backing off now. He reached the street corner where the herbalist's was and was just about to walk in the ajar door, when the ugly, leering face burst out.

He wasn't sure what happened next. He ducked, narrowly avoided being decapitated, and then someone else, someone who was not he flicked out his knife and stabbed the Urgal in a gap between armour. He stabbed again harder and pulled down, deeply puncturing the ogre's side. With a bellow he fell to the ground, clutching at it pained.

Flynn was shocked back to himself, blood all over him and knife in hand. A body lay before, still alive and moving, but dying rapidly. _What did I just do? What the actual fuck did I just do?_ There was no time to think- he just walked into what, to his great relief, was some sort of doctors and began raiding the shelves for anything he recognised as potentially useful. He skirted broken bottles and smashed items; urgal's had been in there.

Most medicines were herbs, poultices and liquids that he had never seen. Those he recognised however, he took. On a hook hung a shoulder bag. He put all the medicines in it, hoping none would break.

Flynn felt ridiculously guilty. He was stealing- stealing from those who had died, no less. It felt wrong. _It's so another can stay well._ The humanoid bellowed weakly at him as he skirted around them for the second time, but the healer forged ahead with determination. All of his doubts and fears fled though, when he knelt beside the unconscious man and he fell into 'doctor mode.' He pulled out a bottle of lavender oil before deftly unwrapping the arm and administering the liquid onto the wound. _I should probably dilute this._ However there was nothing to dilute it with: so straight on it went, the initial sting waking Brom up.  
"What the blazes! Oh-"  
"The cuts been cleaned, I've disinfected it as best as I can. The lavender should take away some of the pain and prevent it from getting infected- you'll need that by the look of your bandage." Flynn's voice was calm and confident. He knew, more or less, what he was doing.  
"Ah… thank-you."

The elders attention then turned to Eragon. Despite his initial alertness, the man was bleary. He put a hand to his head. "Did Saphira get here in time?"  
Eragon shook his head. "I'll explain it later. It looks like Flynn's done a good job on your arm, but you still need a safe place to rest."  
"Yes." Brom said, touching his arm gingerly. "Do you know where my sword…ah, I see you found it." Indeed, Eragon was holding a shining grey blade. _Dragons and swords. It's all real. This is crazy.  
_ The boy had apparently finished some sort of exchange with the dragon. "Saphira's going to take you and follow us by air." As soon as he said the words she arched her long neck and picked Brom up by the scruff of the neck, depositing him on her back. Eragon proceeded to work on the straps.  
"Are you sure you want me to ride her? I can easily ride Snowfire."  
Flynn looked between the man and the horse with concern. "Not with that arm right now."  
"This way even if you faint, you won't fall off."

Brom nodded weakly. "I'm honoured." His good arm wrapped around Saphira's neck and with a flurry of eddies she took off.

Eragon tied Snowfire behind the other horse. The sorrel moseyed up to Flynn, various washing paraphernalia still hung on its wide back.  
"I suppose she's yours now."  
"Oh, wha-I can hardly get on her let alone ride-" the huge animal hung her neck over his shoulder. She seemed fond of him. Either way, he couldn't keep taking the other horses for however long he was stuck with the pair. "Well, I suppose she is." He hung the blanket over her back-he may as well avoid getting horse hair all over himself. The rest of the things, he stuffed into the bag without a second thought. It took a lot of trepidation and a massive jump to get onto her back, but she was obedient and well suited to Flynn's poor riding skills. _You don't have a name._ He thought through several before alighting on one that seemed to suit. _Hyacinth. Hyacinth somehow fits you._

Under the trees by the river, it was cool. Despite the tenseness in Eragon's shoulders Flynn could see him relaxing a little. He was pleased; it wasn't good for a person to be constantly coiled. He could feel himself relaxing also, although he still felt ridiculously ill from the second encounter with the urgal. _I'm not meant to kill things. I'm meant to help lives, not harm them._ What had driven him to killing the beast confused him. _But,_ he reminded himself, _it was trying to kill me._

They stopped briefly to let the horses drink and fill the waterskins. The fact that they were literal bladders still disturbed him more than he would have liked. He took his mind off it by washing the blood and dirt off his face. The cut had clotted nicely, although it took more effort than he would have liked to get the blood out of his stubble. He took a band off his wrist and threw his hair into a topknot. They continued along the river.

As the light began to fade, Saphira summoned them. _**Come**_ _._ _ **I've found a place to stay.**_ An image of a clearing flashed through their minds. They nudged their horses into a trot-something which took Flynn several moments to master, much to Eragon's (hence Saphira's) amusement, and moved in a new direction.

A small fire burned when they entered the clearing. Brom sat beside it doing something with his arm. Saphira lay down, tense. From her intent look at her rider, Flynn could tell she had some things to say to him.

Flynn turned to Brom. "Your arm's hurting again. How are you?"  
"It's a large scratch and hurts terribly at the moment, but I reckon it will heal quickly enough."  
Flynn hummed. "You need new bandages and I might have something for the pain. I've got a heap of stuff in this bag here." They boiled some fresh water for the wound as he fished for things out of the bag.  
"I would use the lavender oil again, but I think that cloves would prove better as a pain reliever. But it could make you bleed for longer, I think. It's your choice- lavender or cloves."  
"Umm… I think I'll take the lavender."  
"Grit your teeth."

Flynn tied a fresh rag around Brom's arm as Brom said, "I must eat, and you both look hungry as well. Let's have some dinner, then we can talk."

Dinner was not beautiful, but it was warm and they were hungry. The outsider had not realised how hungry he was- he hadn't eaten much all day. Full and relatively warm, Brom lit his pipe.  
"You shouldn't smoke you know. It's terrible for your health- absolutely destroys the lungs."  
The old man harrumphed. "I've been smoking for years and haven't heard a thing of that. I think I'll take a chance."  
"Come see me in a decade when you have lung cancer and you'll see I was right."

He stubbornly stuck the pipe between his teeth. "So, Flynn, it seems that I owe you a debt. How do you know so much about wounds, and smoking? And that the bodies had only been there for an hour?"  
Flynn laughed. "I consider it a debt repaid, as you didn't leave me in the middle of a plain. As for how much I know about general health, I'm a doctor."  
"Really? You don't look it. For how long?"  
"Well, I've only been an actual doctor for one year-" Brom guffawed and Eragon's eyes widened, "but! But, if you want something better, I've studied to be one for the past nine. So I reckon I'm quite skilled enough to treat your 'scratch' and recommend not smoking." A look of smugness crossed his face briefly as the men's faces fell. Saphira rumbled, a sound he figured- hoped- was laughing.  
 _ **I told you I liked this one.**_  
"Thank-you."

Attention was now directed toward the both of them. "Now, I think it's time for you to tell me what transpired while I was unconscious. I am most curious." Neither of the pair seemed to want to go first, so Flynn bit the bullet.  
"There's not much to say: the monster-thing, urgal yeah? came, punched me and Eragon off…the, er, brown horse. Cadoc, yeah? I'm not sure what Eragon did after that, but I ran like hell. An urgal chased me into a corner. I broke through a wall-"  
"You broke through a wall!"  
"-a straw wall, got onto Hyacinth over there, and galloped like crazy away from the thing."

"So it is still alive, in Yazuac?"  
"No, as Eragon and Saphira saw, I managed to injure it later. It popped out whilst I grabbed all this medicine and I managed to stab it- it should be dead by now."  
"Ah, good."

The leaders attention now turned to the boy. "And you?"

Eragon clasped his hand nervously and swallowed. He told his tale without pomp. _Magic. Of course there's magic here, and now I'm sitting right next to a magician. This place is crazy._ Brom's face was inscrutable. For a while there was nothing but pregnant pause and the crackling of the fire.  
"Have you used this power before?"  
"No. Do you know anything of it?"  
"A little. You should be proud; few escape unscathed from slaying their first urgal. But the manner in which you did it was ridiculously dangerous. You could have destroyed yourself and the whole town."  
"It wasn't as if I had a choice." Eragon was defensive at the somewhat accusatory tone. "The urgal's were almost upon me. If I had waited, they would have chopped me to pieces!"

Brom gnawed on his pipe vigorously. "You didn't have any idea what you were doing." Eragon took this as a challenge.  
"Then tell me: I've been searching for answers to this mystery, but I can't make head or tail of it. What happened? How did I use magic? No-one has ever instructed me to cast a spell."  
The elders eyes flashed, and Flynn got the feeling that if this man were angered enough, that he could be extremely dangerous. "This isn't something you should be taught- much less use!"  
"Well I _have_ used it and may need it again. But I won't be able to if you don't help me. What's wrong? Is there some secret I'm not supposed to learn until I'm old and wise? Or maybe you don't know anything about magic!"  
Flynn shuffled backward a foot. Eragon was obviously frustrated at the mystery behind all of what he could do. And Brom did not seem to be in the mood for disrespect.  
"Boy!" Shout any louder and he could have been heard on the moon. "You demand answers with an insolence rarely seen. If you knew what you asked for, you would not be so quick to inquire. Do not try me." He relaxed, spent by yelling. "The knowledge which you seek is more complex than you understand."

Eragon rose to his feet, anger steaming off him. "I feel as though I've been thrust into a world with strange rules that no-one will explain."  
Flynn clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I know how you feel dude."  
Brom fiddled with a piece of grass, betraying his nervousness. "As do I. It's late and we should sleep, but I will tell you a few things now to halt your badgering. This magic-for it is magic- has rules like the rest of the world. If you break the rules, the penalty is death without exception. Your deeds are limited by your strength, the words you know and your imagination."  
"What do you mean words?"  
Brom cried. "More questions! For a moment I hoped you were empty. But you are quite right in asking. When you shot the urgal's, did you not say something?"  
"Yes, _brisingr._ " The fire flared up and the word sent a shiver down Flynn's spine. A word should not be able to do that.  
"I thought so. _Brisingr_ is from an ancient language that all living things used to speak. However, it was forgotten over time and went unspoken for eons in Alagaesia until the elves brought it back from across the sea. They taught it to the other races, who used it for making and doing powerful things. The language has a name for everything, if you can find it."  
"But what does it have to do with magic?" Eragon interrupted.  
"Everything! It is the basis for all power that is. The language describes things true nature: not superficial aspects that everyone sees. Fire is _brisingr."_ The flames shot up again. " Not only is that a name for fire, it is _the_ name for fire. If you are strong enough, you can use _brisingr_ to direct fire to do whatever you will. And that is what happened today."

The pair continued to talk as Flynn took the blanket off Hyacinth. He wasn't used to the cool night temperatures around him, although it was doing wonders for his burnt face. He checked his watch, but it seemed that it had broken-it read 7am, although it had to be about eight at night. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket to find, much to his horror, that his screen had cracked: no matter, it had no bars(why hadn't he thought of calling someone before?) and also read 7am. He turned the device off. It held no use.

"As to why the fire did what you wanted, that's a matter of practice. Most beginners have to spell out exactly what they want…"

The two continued to natter as Flynn lay down beside his horse. He didn't know much about horses, but was slightly afraid that she would decide to sleep standing up and step on him. He then decided he had different things to worry about. Such as whether Tran was alive. And what on earth he was meant to do when he needed to crap. Near the warmth of the horse, Flynn soon fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4-Magic Really Isn't the Simplest Thing

Flynn woke that morning with sore ribs and an aching back. He wanted to complain, but was afraid that if he did it wouldn't leave the best impression. Although he was none too keen on being stuck on a death race with a peculiar and dangerous company, it was better than being left alone in some town- or worse, in the wilderness. He could survive in it, he was relatively sure- but thrive? Not in the slightest. He would never find out anything if that happened.

Breakfast was meagre. He knew that his presence was straining on their supplies even more than before, but what choice did he have? His conscience wouldn't let him starve just yet.

Once more they were off, Eragon still with his incessant questions. "Why do you think those four urgal's were still in Yazuac? There doesn't seem any reason for them to have stayed behind."  
"I expect they deserted the main party to loot the town- as shown by our friend here, things of worth remained there. Anyway, what makes it odd is that as far as I know, urgal's have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It unsettles me that they do so now."  
"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"  
"I don't know. The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction they went in: south."  
Eragon agreed, whilst Flynn tried to remember all he could about the Ra'zac. _They're weird bird-creatures in capes that make clicky-noises. They live in a big rock near a city. Drab Lona or something? They end up dead._

Flynn's mouth opened and shut several times as he considered sharing this information. _No._ A strange voice at the back of his head seemed to command it. _It will interfere with what really happened, and what do you have then? A paradox._  
"You're right." It took a moment for him to realise he had said this aloud.  
"Do you have something to say?"  
"What, er, no, no. Just sneezing."

Where did this strange voice seem to be coming from? It seemed real. Far too real to be his own thoughts or conscience. _Don't worry about me, I'm just your conscience._  
 _What the bloody heck?_

This was confusing. Too confusing. Flynn was grateful for the loud birds and river noises as a distraction.

* * *

After a midday stop to drink and relieve themselves, Brom scratched his chin thoughtfully and spoke. "I suppose you're still wondering about magic. The fact that you've discovered it presents a thorny problem; few knew of it, but every rider could use magic, although to differing strengths." Brom caught Flynn's immediate interest.  
"And Flynn, if you share a word of this with anyone outside of us, you will be killed, understand? Nothing personal." He grinned. Was this the man's interpretation of a joke? If so, it wasn't particularly good.

"No need to threaten sir, I'm just interested." He muttered under his breath. "It's doubtful anyone would believe me anyway."  
Brom shot him a glare and snapped. "I heard that." Flynn blanched, and Brom's face opened and smiled. "Relax a bit, I'm joking."

All the man could do was blink in confusion at the strange man in his presence.

The story teller continued his ramble. "So where was I… the riders kept their ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known it, dealing with commonfolk would have been difficult. Many think that the kings powers come from him being a wizard or sorcerer: but it is because he is a rider."  
"What's the difference? Doesn't the fact that I use magic make me a sorcerer?"  
"Not at all! A sorcerer, like a Shade, draws their power from spirits. That is absolutely separate to your power. Nor does this make you a magician, whose powers come without spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, whose powers come from potions and spells.  
Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented. Usually young riders were put through a strict regime designed to strengthen their bodies and increase mental control. This regimen continued for long periods of time until the riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, no student was told of their potential: if one discovered magic by accident they would immediately be taken away for private tutoring."

Flynn interrupted. "How come you know so much about this? Didn't you say something like… 'not being for the commonfolk' or something?"  
"That is something that I will keep to myself. Be satisfied that I learnt it long ago, a long way from here." Flynn was satisfied enough with his hosts answer for the time being. He did not want to pry too much, appear overly rude.

"It was rare for someone to discover magic on his own-" he nodded to Eragon, "-although none were put under the same pressure you were." The older man continued to chatter about the history of magic, how riders discovered it, and the ancient language. Flynn's ears once more perked up at this point- it was something that had fascinated him when he had read the series.  
Just as they thought the monologue had ceased, Eragon came once more with a question. "I still don't understand quite how this magic works. How exactly do I use it?"

Both Brom and Flynn looked at the boy, then at each other with astonished expressions. Brom's words had been perfectly sound, even to the man who had only been half-listening. _This boy is a numbat!_

"Haven't I made that clear?"  
"No."  
He drew a breath. "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You must also be able to summon that power at will. Once this power is called upon, you must use it or let it fade away. Understand?"  
The words now in perfectly clear terms, Eragon nodded his head. "Good. Now if your wish is to employ this power, you must utter a word or phrase in the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said _brisingr_ yesterday, nothing would have happened."  
The doctor glanced around, worried some flame would flare up again. _None of this magic stuff is natural. It's not bad, but it's… peculiar._

The complicated art of magic and the ancient language continued. The conversation unnerved him. _This sounds as if it is word from word by the book._

Saphira's voice reverberated around his skull. _**Are you alright, tiny healer? You seem pale.**_  
"Will you leave off the height? I already know I'm short."  
If a shrug could have been sent mentally, that was what had happened. _**You are very tiny. And a healer.**_  
"Doctor. And thank-you for asking, but I'm quite alright."

The day continued much the same, Flynn primarily acting as a fourth wheel. Where seeing Eragon's struggle to telekinetically lift a pebble was somewhat amusing at first, he soon tired of the sight.

As dusk fell, they stopped for the night. Flynn did his utmost to see how the pair created a fire from the sticks that he had collected: he didn't want to be superfluous. Eragon's lesson's in the ancient language continued up until they ate. Apparently a stick was _vondr_ , a plant was _delois,_ and the morning star _Aiedail._

 _Aiedail. Sounds like Earandiel from Lord of the Rings._ He chipped in on this, pointing at the so called 'star.' "You know, that star you're looking at is actually a planet. Where I come from we call it Venus."  
"What's a planet?"  
Flynn's eyes widened. _Of course they don't know what planets are. Most don't even know the world is round and that we breathe oxygen, not plain air._ "Um, how do I explain… each planet is like a massive sphere of matter, right? So here we're mainly earth, on countries, along with the water of the ocean. But there are other ones too: seven others in our system all up, all big balls of…stuff, floating in space."  
"You must be joking."  
'Not in the slightest. There's Mercury, Venus- which is a lot easier to see than the others, so you call the morning star- and Earth…" this slowed him down. _Are we on earth? They have Venus. They have the same plants, animals, atmosphere… and yet this isn't the earth I know._

"Well anyway, Earth is what we live on. And after that there's Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune."

Saphira snorted and spoke to them all. _**Your religion is a strange one. You say we all live on floating balls in the sky- next you will say people have been on the moon.**_

The doctor's eyes widened. "You know, funnily enough people have walked on the moon."

The other's roared with laughter as Flynn looked around in shock and disbelief. _They don't know anything. Science is a completely foreign concept._

Brom smiled. "I'm not one to disparage others beliefs, but wherever you are from has some crazy ones."  
Flynn shook his head. "I would like to say they're just beliefs for conveniences sake, but that's not the case. It's the absolute truth- it's science!" The strange looks continued to abound. He sighed. "Just wait until the day I'm able to prove it too you."

 _Does there have to be a day that you can prove it too them?_ He wanted to go home. Real home. Not a New Zealand resort or in the other countries they travelled to for tennis, but snuggled up with Tran on the couch in their tiny apartment. Only three days and he missed everything enough to make his heart ache already.

* * *

The following days continued in similar suite. Slowly it was seeming, Flynn's company was warming up to him. They talked much more often now, Flynn exchanging interesting bits of knowledge about his world for parts of Alagaesia and the Empire.

Upon knowing of the existence of magic, Brom now insisted they probe his mind in the case that he brought harm. It was not until then that they truly deemed his trustworthy.

It was now in particular that he had never been more grateful for remembering exceedingly random titbits of information. Somehow- he was not sure why, how or where the power had come from- Flynn was able to erect walls, akin to the ones that he had read of so many years ago, hiding everything irrelevant. Focus on something so that he was impenetrable. No knowledge of the future, knowledge of the workings of his world, or dangerous personal details- such as the fact he had a husband, not a wife, something which he didn't think they'd be too accepting of here- was disclosed. To his highest hopes anyway.

His blocking had been detected however. "Why is it every time I try to get to information such as where you come from, the strangest music plays instead?" Brom asked as the tendril of thought withdrew from his mind.  
Flynn held back a gulp. _I did not successfully do a magic-thing from just reading a book, only for sheer body language to give me away!_ "I don't know. I can truthfully say that I am not aware of any strange music in my mind."

He wasn't lying. Coldplay's _Viva la Vida_ was by no means peculiar to him.

The old man harrumphed. "You're hiding something. I can feel another presence in there." The oily feeling inside his head returned with a brush of the mind.

"There's nothing that I want to-" his face screwed up in confusion "wait, what the heck do you mean by another presence?"  
"There seems to be another person- or more, half a person- in your head. I think it's what is producing the strange music."  
"I honestly haven't a clue what you're going on about." The elder withdrew again, with a conclusion.  
"You're telling the truth. But there's something in there, something which I don't think even you know about."  
Flynn shrugged. "Maybe the powers of the universe deemed something dangerous. Everything here seems to be dangerous."

Brom looked cynical. "Maybe. But know this: I do not believe that you as yourself would disclose things such as the existence of Saphira, and magical knowledge: but I am not putting it past you to hide things, nor that other things about you may prove dangerous. I like you Flynn, I genuinely do, but understand that Saphira's existence is something that we can't risk. If there is anything you are hiding- anything at all- that may present even the slightest inclination of harm, we will not stand for it."

Flynn gulped. "Understood."

The mood remained tense for many hours after, yet somehow the small group still grew closer to each other. And there was one thing that Flynn could not leave be: what had Brom meant by another?

* * *

Time was repetitive, and often mind numbing. When one had nothing to think about, the majority of time was spent in a doze. This at very least, resulted in them being well-rested. Saphira, and on occasion Eragon, caught them meat for their meals, as well as the Ninor provided their nourishment. Flynn's fears of depleting the supplies below a survivable level disappeared. Although he would kill for a cup of tea.

Eragon's magical ability grew slowly, but his control vastened significantly. When he tried to raise a pebble it no longer wobbled, and even grew to shoot it with accuracy. Evening swordplay he also witnessed, showed a good development of skills.

He was perfectly happy to watch and cheer the pair on until they asked him if he fancied a try. "No, no. I've never touched a sword, or any proper weapon in my life."  
"I probably won't be able to hold it for much more than a minute."  
"I'm er…not sure what the difference between a stab and a parry is."

His excuses lasted to no effect. Brom decided to pit the two younger men against each other: it was needless to say, Flynn being the less experienced, in the wrong time period for the weapon and generally less physically capable of the two got absolutely thrashed.

"I am going to teach you how to use a sword."  
Flynn nursed his aches by Hyacinth. "I don't think that'll be necessary, although thanks for the offer."  
"You don't have a choice. It's a miracle you survived that urgal, and that you did so much as injure it was pure fluke. If you are to travel with us, there could be danger at any point: you need to know how to defend yourself."

The idea didn't agree with the doctor. He was a healer, not a fighter. He'd never been in a proper fight in his life up until now. But eventually he conceded. "Alright! But only what is necessary- I don't like hurting things."

Saphira snorted. Flynn couldn't help but think how pathetic that sounded in this world, and the others evidently agreed. _Toughen up. Missing home isn't going to help you._

The days turned to weeks. The nightmares continued. Each night, in the now familiar pitch black, he sat up in cold sweat with tears running down his cheeks. More than once he had to silence sobs by wrapping his head in his jacket. Their journey south continued.

Yet there was one thing which no-one in particular noticed; it did not seem important, wasn't something that a person would pay much attention too. His hair didn't grow, and his wound healed very slowly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- Brom Might Have Fashion Sense, but it's Only a Possibility

Daret.

They could see the hint of civilisation from a league away, along the banks of the river. It was the smallest piece of settlement that Flynn had ever had the glory to lay eyes upon, but that thought mattered not: the very fact that it was civilisation got the drums of his heart beating again.

He had accepted that his situation was very much real: the thin scar on his cheek reminded him of that every day. But there was some small fleck of hope that he had just ended up in the wilderness, the people he travelled with were crazy, and there would inexplicably be a phone connection in the town. _You're dreaming_ the strange voice in his head said.

He had turned his phone on once a day only to check for any sign. So far, nothing. The battery was draining, and the open wilderness would not keep it functioning for long.

They rode toward the wild place in absolute silence, the village appearing from the outside, uninhabited. Brom's hand was on his sword, Eragon's bow on his lap. Flynn's comrades were beginning to rub off on him: the knife section of his tool lay open in his pocket. It still remained the most pathetic weapon within miles, but it was better than absolutely nothing. It had killed, after all.

Even with this precaution however, they still held the utmost caution. Brom halted them out of sights distance of any village folk. "You can't go into the village looking like that."  
"What's wrong with me?" Flynn's thoughts on the old man's fashion sense had been few at best.  
Eragon piped up. "The shirt you wear is strange and richly coloured. Your shoes and pants are of some material that I at least, have never seen before. And everything you wear seems to have writing on it. You look like some… far off noble. Or a magician."  
Brom nodded in agreement.

Flynn sighed. "Of course I bloody do. Who's the magician here anyway?" He left his rant be. "So what exactly do you suggest I do?"

"Do you have anything else to wear?"  
"No…no, wait now, I might have something." He rustled through the bag and procured possibly the multiverses most disgusting shirt, that he had picked up(read- literally ran into). "Will this do?"

He slipped the new shirt on, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of his flabs and the bruises along his ribs. They had healed up well, but still twanged every now and then. "Happy?"  
"Is there anything you can do about the shoes?"  
The latino closed his eyes and sighed once more. "It's the fact that they're bright red with rubber isn't it?"  
"I have no idea what the second half of that sentence meant, but yes."

He jumped off Hyacinth and ground his feet into the dirt, rubbing the brown into the canvas. He could feel the dirt pore into his shoes, creating little lumps around his feet. "I hope this'll do."  
Brom grunted, satisfied but not happy. "It's an improvement."

* * *

Their eyes flashed everywhere, scanning the buildings for signs of life. Some footprints looked somewhat recent, a pig snuffled somewhere in the heat. They rode all the way to the central square, thankful to find a lack of butchered corpses. Yet there was no noise or hint of people in this desert town. Tiny dust devils danced to an unknown beat. Flynn almost expected a tumbleweed to roll out from somewhere. "I don't like the feel of this." They urged their horses into a gallop, but only made it several strides before two wagons fell out from behind houses, blocking their path. _How did they get there so silently?_ A man, stout and tanned hopped over them and planted himself firmly affront, sword at his waist and bow drawn.

"Halt! Lay down your weapons. You are surrounded by sixty archers. Move, and they'll shoot." A brick slid down Flynn's throat. _Well at least I know that Brom and Eragon won't leave me here- these people would never take me._ A new thought surfaced in his mind. _I hope Saphira doesn't come, if they're even half decent archers she'll be screwed._

"What do you want?" Brom was cool as ever.  
"Why have you come here?"  
"To buy supplies and hear the news, nothing more. We're on our way to my cousin's house in Dras-Leona."  
"You're armed heavily."  
"So are you." Brom said. "These times are dangerous."

The man's attention turned to Flynn. "You, the one on the horse far too big for him. I'm not stupid, I can see that you haven't come here with this other pair. What are you up to?"

Flynn was not a good lier, but he could twist the truth. "I come from an island, far off the coast of here. I travelled to see family."  
The man quirked an eyebrow. "An island, you say?"  
Brom rescued him. "We found him a month ago, wandering and lost with nothing but his horse, that bag and the clothes on his back. He was attacked by bandits just past Utgard."  
"Thankfully they didn't want Hyacinth here, otherwise I would have been dead. Something about her dying too soon." _Too much?  
_ His talking conscience replied. _Nah._

The man hurrumphed and looked at them carefully. "I don't think you mean us harm, but as your friend here shows, there are far too many bandits and urgal's around for me to trust you on solely your word."  
"If it doesn't matter what we say, what happens now?" Continued Brom. The archers held deadly still on the roofs, and Flynn could hear the breaths of yet more people behind the houses. The hair on his arms stood on end with fear, and the beast nawed at the pit of his stomach.  
"You say that you only want supplies. Do you agree to wait here whilst we gather what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?"  
"Yes."

The man waved his arm and the archers relaxed as he lowered his own bow. "Then tell us what you want."

A precise list was recited, with the addition of a proper bridle for Hyacinth and gloves for Eragon. A boy ran off and the man came forward a little. "The names Trevor. Normally I'd shake your hand, but under such circumstances I'll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?"  
"North, although we haven't lived any place long enough to call it home. Flynn is from far West, or so we're told." He kept silent and nodded in agreement. "Have urgal's forced you to take such measures?"  
Worry was in the mans voice. "Unfortunately, yes, and other worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We don't often hear from them, but received reports that they faced similar difficulties."  
"I wish it wasn't ours to tell you this, but about a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac. It was pillaged, all the villagers slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but three urgal's attacked us."

Flynn felt for the man. A look of absolute shock was plastered to his face. Tears were held back in his eyes. "This is a dark day. Still, I don't see how a trio of urgal's could have defeated the whole of Yazuac- they were good fighters, many my friends."  
"There were signs of a band had passed through and ravaged it. I'm led to believe the ones we encountered were deserters."  
"How large?"  
Brom's eyebrows furrowed. "No greater than a hundred, and no less than fifty. Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, and if I'm not mistaken, either sum would prove fatal to you." Trevor agreed with signs of weariness and terror upon his face. "You should consider leaving this place."  
"I'm aware, but the people here refuse to even think of it. Our small victories against individual urgal's have made them confident far beyond their abilities. I fear we shall wake one morning with our throats slashed," Trevor shrugged, "but this is their home."

The boy returned, arms laden with goods and set them by the horses. Brom paid the man as Eragon and himself packed. Flynn was curious about the man. "Why did they choose you, out of everyone, to protect the village?"  
Trevor's eyebrows shot up in surprise as a bass ran from the smaller man. After his initial shock, he shrugged. "I served in the army for some years."  
"The kings?"  
"Who else?"

Brom threw Eragon the gloves as he checked over their wares. "Well," the elder stated, "as promised, we will leave now."  
The man nodded. "When you enter Dras-Leona, could you do a favour? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of others. If word of this hasn't reached the king by now, that is worrying… and if he has heard but has chosen to do nothing, that is also cause for worry."  
"We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp!"  
"And yours."

The trio rode off to meet Saphira. Flynn could feel eyes boring into his back all the way until they left the village. Their plight had left the man chilled to the bone. This wasn't right, wasn't the way a ruler should act, wasn't what people should have to do: there should be someone to protect them and their interests. _You're not in the modern world anymore. Democracy isn't a thing. People can't just pull out their phone and read the news from the other side of the country- heck, most of them can't even read!_ This set off a chain of thought in Flynn's head. _I can't even remember where we're going next, but I can remember details like this! What the hell brain!_

"Eragon," he piped up suddenly, "you can't read, can you?"  
"No, why would I need to?"

Brom's back straightened as he guffawed in disbelief. "You mean Garrow never taught you?"  
"No, he knew how to read?"  
Brom snorted. "Of course he did. Proud fool, he probably considered it an unnecessary luxury."

Flynn nodded at Eragon. "You, my boy, are going to be taught how to read."  
"Thank-you, but why?"  
Flynn spluttered in amazement. He'd never particularly considered that it may be considered a useless skill. _There's so much that I've just taken for granted…_ "Because," he took a breath to compose himself, "reading allows you to broaden your skillset, gain knew information significantly easier, write things so that you may record things and allow you to live a fuller life."  
Brom blinked. "Good answer."  
"Thank-you." It may have been an almost exact quote from a year 10 essay, but that didn't matter at that very moment. "Eragon, do you know what the alphabet is… wait, Brom, you use letters like a, b, c, d right?"

Whilst the young man confirmed with his elder that yes, indeed he was going to teach Eragon the right language, they reached Saphira. The very look on her face told them she was fuming. That and the smoke pouring from her nostrils. The horses stepped back and flared their nostrils in nerves. He could feel Hyacinth shaking beneath him. _Thank God I got a docile horse._ Dragon and rider engaged in some sort of mental battle, intensifying as Saphira use a claw to sweep Eragon's legs from under him. "What are you doing!" The boy yelped as she placed a claw upon his chest. The elder pair could do nothing but watch. The squirming and strange facial expressions exchanged back and forth continued for several minutes, until it appeared to be over.

"Well?" Brom demanded.  
"She wants me to ride he tomorrow."  
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Well, you do have a saddle. I suppose if the two of you stay out of sight it won't be a problem."  
"But if you're attacked, or if there's an accident? I won't be able to get there in time…"  
Saphira's voice rumbled throughout their minds. _**Exactly, little one.**_

Brom was struggling to hide a smile. "It's worth the risk. You need to learn how to ride her anyway. Think about it like this: with you flying ahead and looking at the ground, you'll be able to spot any surprises."  
Eragon's fear was evident, and he still remained unconvinced. "I rode her for a few days just after Flynn… arrived."  
"If you call holding on for dear life flying boy, my robe is made of gold."

Eragon looked at Saphira as they mentally exchanged. "Alright, I'll do it." Saphira let her claw off him and took off with a twist.

* * *

They made camp at sundown. Their traditional pattern of sparring whilst dinner stewed was as normal (resultant in Flynn, as always, being thrashed in the first round). He could feel himself improving: he knew what to do, it was simply a matter of lacking the physical prowess to do it. He could see Eragon was passing through that stage: over the weeks the boy was getting leaner, his skin tanning, muscles hardening. It was only to be expected.

Yet as he watched the boy progress, he grew wary that nothing was happening to himself. He was barely sunburnt, his bruises didn't appear until days after they had been given, and refused to disappear as fast as they should. Worry began to form. _Am I sick?_ Yet despite this peculiarity, Flynn didn't feel negatively efffected. Besides, even if he knew the root of the matter he wouldn't have anything to treat it. All he had was a few, of what was essentially, home remedies. Worrying, or so the remaining rational part of his mind dictated, was useless.

Lost in thought, the stick he had just jabbed at Eragon shattered into two. Another powerful blow finished off both Brom's and the boy's. Brom tossed the remains onto the fire. "We've done all we can with these: there is only so much you can learn using branches. It is time to use a blade."

Brom went to the bags and removed a blood red sword. _Zac. Zain. Zarric._ Something along those lines- the name of a sword had never come across as particularly important to the Australian. Brom sent him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I would let you join if we had another sword: but it's more a matter of it being more vital for him to know than you. You understand?"  
Flynn nodded with no little relief. "It's fine, have fun."

The rider had been examining the weapon with great interest. "We'll cut each other to ribbons!"  
"Again, you forget magic." He held his sword to the fire and commanded toward it. _"Geuloth du knifr!"_ A small red spark flickered between the sword and the man's fingers. Flynn no longer shivered: he had gotten used to the crackle in the air, electricity making hairs stand on end, the surge of energy. He checked dinner and sat next to Saphira to watch.

Brom admonished the rider before they begun. "These swords won't cut, but they can still break bones. Now that's something I'd prefer to avoid, so please don't flail around: a blow to the neck may prove fatal."

Flynn grinned grimly. "Yeah, please save me the hard work. There's not much around here to make any suitable splint, or to bury a body. I'd prefer not to float you down the river."

Saphira made a choking-growling sound deep in her throat, which he now recognised as laughter.

Life moved on. They ate, they slept, and silently in moments when homesickness and travelling became too much, they wept.


End file.
